Translator: CinderTL
The Stonemason Clan's council hall was dimly lit by flickering flames, casting shadows across Imar's deeply lined face, making him appear a decade older in an instant.
The Clan Chief sat on the ancestral Black Rock Throne, his hands gripping the armrests tightly. Before him knelt a scout, his voice trembling as he reported in broken phrases: another main tunnel had been completely sealed off, burying thirty-seven tribesmen alive. The exit had collapsed, and underground water was flooding the lower passages.
The humans had even destroyed the "ancestral vein"—the ancient passage that had remained undamaged since the mountain's creation.
A deathly silence fell over the council hall.
For the Stonemason Clan, the tunnels were far more than mere military fortifications. They were the backbone of their civilization, a lifeline carved inch by inch through solid rock by countless generations of dwarves, using hammers, chisels, and their own blood and sweat. Every junction, every staircase, bore the names of their clans and the legends of their ancestors.
Since the dwarves first settled in the Rocky Mountains, this monumental project had been underway for millennia, ultimately forming a labyrinthine sanctuary.
These tunnels had sheltered them from human massacres, protected them from orc raids, and sustained their lineage through times of famine.
Yet now, in a mere matter of weeks, humans had reduced it all to rubble with a power they couldn't comprehend.
"Waaah! It wasn't an earthquake... or a landslide..." a surviving dwarf wailed, "This must be human magic—a dark art that tears stone apart from within!"
Imar slowly closed his eyes, recalling the shattered rocks brought back—their edges charred black, some surfaces fused smooth as glass, marks only the hellforge could produce. He didn't know what it was, but if humans continued their reckless destruction, the Stonemason Clan would face annihilation.
The pain in Imar's heart was like a knife twisting in his chest. What worried him even more was that if the ordinary tribesmen learned the tunnels were collapsing one by one, panic would shatter the clan's foundations faster than human muskets.
He suddenly snapped his eyes open, his voice low and cold as he commanded, "Not a single word of these disastrous reports shall leave this chamber. From this moment forward, all news of the surface war and tunnel damage is to be sealed. Anyone spreading rumors will be punished as a traitor to the clan."
The elders nodded silently, their faces ashen.
Imar gazed up at the ancient star map carved into the vaulted ceiling—the markings his ancestors had used to navigate the underground labyrinth. Now, as the tunnels collapsed, these symbols were being reduced to meaningless scratches, one by one.
After careful consideration, Imar personally summoned the Orc Centurion stationed within their territory—the one Abal had left behind to monitor the dwarves.
"Convey this message to Great Chieftain Abal," Imar said, his voice low and controlled. "The humans have mastered a magic capable of instantly shattering mountains and splitting stone. Our tunnels are being buried one by one by this malevolent magic, leaving my warriors with nowhere to hide. If the Rocky Mountains fall, Aldor's armies will sweep into the southern flank of the Grassland. In the name of the Stonemason Clan Chief, I implore him to send reinforcements to jointly resist Grayman's evil forces."
"The humans have found a way to strike into the mountains?" The Orc Centurion suppressed his shock, bowing his head in acknowledgment. He promised to immediately relay the dwarf Clan Chief's request to the Great Chieftain.
After leaving the dwarf Clan Chief's residence, the Orc Centurion didn't act immediately. Instead, he conducted a thorough investigation, gradually piecing together the truth from scattered fragments of information: a human envoy had been imprisoned by the Stonemason Clan for over half a year.
The Orc Centurion slammed his fist against the rock wall, his fury burning. "Fools! Stone-headed idiots! How could they do something so reckless?" he muttered under his breath.
He finally understood why the humans had launched a sudden, large-scale attack on the Rocky Mountains. The dwarves' actions were nothing short of a resounding slap in Paul Grayman's face.
Imar, that fool! Couldn't he have at least consulted me before acting?
"The Chieftain's Tent is still gathering strength, waiting for the new batch of grassland cavalry to complete their training, waiting for those fickle Tribes to pledge their loyalty... But now, these dwarves, driven by their own selfish motives, have dragged the entire Grassland into a new war!"
The Orc Centurion immediately selected a messenger. "Ride at full speed to the Grassland Chieftain's Tent and inform Great Chieftain Abal that the Stonemason Clan is facing a dire threat from Aldor."
Just as the messenger was about to depart, the Centurion called him back. "Remind Great Chieftain Abal that the humans now possess far more powerful weapons. The dwarves' tunnels are as fragile as straw before them!"
He sought out the dwarf Clan Chief once more.
"You must release the human envoy immediately," the Centurion said, his tone now harsh, no longer concealing his commanding tone. "Please understand, Clan Chief, this is not a request, but an order. By detaining him, you've personally aimed the Aldorian cannons at the Rocky Mountains. Releasing him now might still give us a chance to negotiate peace with Grayman."
Fury surged in Imar's eyes. "An order? You dare order me? I am the Clan Chief of the Stonemason Clan, not some tribal chieftain from your Grassland!"
The Orc Centurion glared back. "I represent Great Chieftain Abal himself!"
"Abal? Even he has no authority here!" the dwarf Clan Chief retorted.
"Have you forgotten who helped you seize the Clan Chief's seat?" the Centurion pressed, stepping closer. "Without Great Chieftain Abal's favor, do you think you could act independently? Wake up, stubborn stone! You detained the human envoy without even informing us—and now that things have gone wrong, you expect us to bail you out?"
"I detained him for..." Imar hesitated, then defended himself: "For the safety of the entire mountain range! But what about you? You're only thinking of your own survival now!"
"Safety?" The Centurion sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Clan Chief, how safe do you call this situation now? Do you call this 'safety'?"
The two men glared at each other, sparks seeming to fly between them. Finally, Imar slammed his wine cup to the ground. "Get out! My tribesmen will never bow to anyone, least of all you orcs."
The Centurion stared at him for a moment, then said coldly, "You'll regret this." He turned and strode away.
Imar stood alone in the darkness, the dying embers of the hearth casting flickering shadows across his face. The fury in his chest slowly cooled, replaced by a deep sense of humiliation.
He remembered the Centurion's words: "Without Great Chieftain Abal's favor, you think you could act independently?" He recalled how he had once humbly begged the orcs to make trade between their peoples fairer... Now, he was defending the orcs from external enemies, guarding these mountains for them, only to receive this condescending rebuke.
"Who... who am I fighting for?" he murmured to himself.
Suddenly, a thought struck him like lightning: Why don't I join the humans?
(End of the Chapter)
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